Words
by Niki Bogwater
Summary: Gerome isn't very good with words. But perhaps he doesn't need to be. GeromeXNoire oneshot.


Gerome is _not_ sensitive.

He is a warrior, cold and contemplative, and he cares nothing for those around him. That is who he is, who he has been, and who he always will be.

Perhaps if he keeps telling himself that, it will become the truth.

He refuses to acknowledge the gnawing sting of worry creeping over him. It's only little things, like when she trips in the mess hall, or the way her eyes droop during battle. He assures himself that the only reason he notices this is because he is exceptionally observant, but it has no effect on him whatsoever.

When he finds himself following her one day, he suddenly realizes that he has most definitely lost some of his edge. Every inch of distance he has put between himself and others is swiftly being swallowed up by this blasted _concern_ of his. It's nothing, he insists when Minerva glances at him pointedly. She is nothing. Nothing matters to him except his precious Minervykins and winning this war. It is to this extent that he wishes to ensure her peak physical condition. Nothing more.

Then he sees her trip, and before he can object, he finds himself racing to catch her. And as she half lays, half stands in his arms, her confused, terrified eyes meet his, and he realizes to his horror that he is blushing profusely. He roughly pushes her back to her feet and mumbles something about "clumsy oaf of a woman," before darting into the shadows of his tent. He can feel her gaze on him as he retreats, and he swallows the urge to turn around and meet it with his own.

He hasn't the foggiest idea why Robin insists on him shepherding Noire through every single battle. Surely there's no tactical advantage to be found in carting around a trembling, half-crazed mouse of a girl while he tries to dispatch his foes. The peculiar rush of panic when he sees her injured in the heat of a battle, and the inexplicable loss of all sense of self-preservation as he rushes to defend her both seem like rather large tactical _oversights,_ from his point of view. He decides to ask Robin about it one day, and she seems a little surprised by his reservations.

"Why, Gerome..." she says gently, a wise, yet somehow disquieting gleam in her eyes. "Don't you like Noire?" Gerome tells her that any traces of affection she may have detected in him stem purely from a sense of professionalism. "So you don't _dis_ like her then, right?" Robin asks, to which Gerome is forced to answer that he doesn't find anything particularly loathsome in the jumpy archeress. "Then what, may I ask, is the problem?" Robin presses, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"N-nothing..." Gerome finally mumbles. "I just wanted to make sure I understand your instructions."

When he finds himself in a pinch, and deftly turns Minerva in a sudden evasive maneuver, he feels Noire's slim arms clasp around his chest as the girl squeeks in terror. He tries to brush off the warm, bubbly feeling in his stomach as airsickness, even though he has never in his life felt even remotely ill while flying with Minerva. As he tries to gather his senses again, he doesn't realize that Minerva is headed straight for a squadron of enemy archers-at least, not until he hears Noire give another little shriek. Startled, he jerks Minerva's reins wildly, and the confused wyvern bucks underneath them as a storm of arrows begins to rain upon them. Miraculously, Gerome is able to evade most of them, thanks to some quick thinking on Minerva's part, and quite a bit of instinctual steering on his. He is almost ready to breathe a sigh of relief when his mount suddenly gives a piercing roar.

Gerome isn't quite sure exactly how he managed to curl up around Noire as the three of them plummeted from the sky. He also isn't aware of making a conscious decision to position himself beneath her so as to cushion her fall, but suddenly there he is, falling towards the leaf-strewn ground with his arms wound tightly about her small frame as she buries her face in his chest. Minerva flails in desperation, blood spurting from the puncture in her wing, and manages to slow their descent just enough to avoid breaking any bones when they make contact with the earth. She groans softly, uncurling her protective wings from around her dazed rider and his companion.

For a minute, Gerome lies prone on the ground, too stunned to breathe and too shaken to move. Noire whimpers quietly into his armor, and he suddenly becomes aware of their awkward position. Quickly regaining his breath, he shoves the trembling girl off of him, blushing profusely as he hurries to tend to Minerva's wing. Having landed among the shelter of the woods, Gerome estimates that he has about a minute and a half to bind Minerva's wounds and shepherd her away from the battle. His rattled estimation is proven wrong, however, as the Risen archers storm through the trees thirty seconds later, intent on finishing the job.

Gerome grips his axe tightly, well aware that he is very little use in a fight without his faithful mount. Acting on a whim, he shoves Noire towards the shadows of the trees just before the Risen swarm him, hoping that they won't notice her escaping in the frenzy. He sucks in a breath of air as half-a-dozen arrows train on him, and he closes his eyes tightly, letting his axe fall to the ground as he awaits death's embrace.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM, YOU INSOLENT CURS!"

Gerome is both relieved and horrified to hear Noire's shrill voice exploding through the clearing. His eyes snap open in time to see what seems to be a silver-haired demon slicing through the squadron as easily as butter.

"N-Noire...?" he stutters, gaping in a mixture of admiration and horror as she rips into his assailants with an unholy wrath. She doesn't bother in finding a vantage point and sniping from afar, as is her usual style of battle. She fires her arrows from close range, one after another, purple blood spattering all over her clothes as the Risen evaporate one by one. When the smoke clears, only Noire is left standing before him, breathing heavily, the fire in her eyes slowly fading. Her eyelids droop tiredly as she wavers a bit on the spot, and Gerome leaps to catch her when she starts to collapse.

"Is it over...?" she squeaks, staring up at him with bleary eyes. Gerome nods hesitantly, gripping her waist tightly in case she faints altogether. "Oh...Good," she says softly, and she shifts to take some of her weight off of him, although she doesn't completely escape his grasp. Realizing that he should have let go long before the last forty-five seconds had passed, Gerome hastily pushes her away, turning so she won't see that stubborn blush returning to his face.

"Don't fight my battles..." he grumbles, stooping to finish tending to Minerva's wing.

After that, he hardly lets her out of his sight. While her alternate persona may have saved his life (though for longest time afterward, he insists that he'd had everything under control), it had left her completely fatigued. He'd had to carry her to the med tent himself, where she had spent the evening in bed to regain her strength with a hot bowl of soup. Meanwhile, it had taken Gerome several hours to convince an absolutely livid Tharja that he had done nothing to her daughter to agitate her enough to transform.

Now more than ever, Gerome finds it imperative that Noire do nothing to overexert herself. Most of his days are spent shadowing her throughout her entire routine. When she begins to go about her chores a little faster than usual, it occurs to him that she may have noticed him watching her from a darker corner of the camp. She looks around nervously as she packs newly purchased arrows neatly into a supply crate. It then also occurs to Gerome that she has probably completely misread his intentions, which would explain her lately intensified timidity.

Eventually, she confronts him about it, and it is to his horror that he finds the very thing he has been trying to prevent has only been unearthed again in its full force by his behavior. He flinches as Noire thunders an interrogation at him, and in desperation, he finally admits the truth both to her, and consequently, to himself. He is, in fact, worried about her. He breathes a sigh of relief as his revelation seems to put Noire at ease again, and he anxiously hovers about her as she reverts again, ready to catch her should she lose consciousness. As soon as he is assured of her physical well being for the present, he quickly takes his leave with a hasty apology for the misunderstanding, his cheeks burning as he flees her presence.

 _You fool,_ he reprimands himself. _You miserable, wretched fool._ Everything he has tried to avoid for so long is now coming to pass. He has formed an attachment. Dare he say it, it's even more than attachment. He now fosters a peculiar sort of _fondness_ for the girl, and it's well he knows that fondness always leads to disappointment in the end. It is his reason for distancing himself from those around him. To admit that he cares is to acknowledge a weakness, and doing so could put him at great risk of further heartbreak.

"Pathetic craven..." he murmurs to himself as he throws a bucket of warm water across Minerva's back. He angrily wrings out the rag and polishes her scales with misplaced fury, to the point that his faithful mount recoils from his touch and snarls her discomfort to him. "...My apologies," he sighs, taking her head between his hands and placating her with a gentle caress. "I am just...conflicted." Minerva snorts at him in inquiry. "I swore to myself and to you that I would not cause further pain to fall upon either of us by making any unnecessary attachments...But I have failed. I am a coward. A weak and pathetic coward, and now I have betrayed not only you, but myself. I...don't know what to do now."

Minerva lets out an affectionate growl from deep inside her throat as she gently butts her head against his chest in understanding. She draws back and looks him firmly in the eye, emitting a soft crooning noise through her teeth.

"Strength...?" Gerome questions, his brow furrowing in confusion. "How could something so insignificant bring strength? In the end, it can only breed pain. Surely you remember."

Minerva croons again, chuffing through her nose.

"...Yes. I suppose so...Such as the strength Chrom finds in Robin, and Lucina, and Morgan. But is it worth the cost it will bring in the end?"

Minerva gazes at him pointedly.

"I suppose..." he concedes slowly. "that such sorrow can result in a strength of its own. Perhaps..." He trails off, his gaze wandering to the supply tent where he knows she is working. Minerva butts his chest again, inclining her head in the same direction.

"...You're right as always, Minerva." And in that moment, Gerome surrenders. He unlocks his heart from the dark dungeon he has hidden it in, and is finally able to embrace his newfound happiness. And should the time come when Noire can no longer be a force in his life, he will gain strength through that sorrow, and soldier on, a better man for it. All he needs to do now is...

"...Wait. If yesterday she was packing, that means today she's in charge of reorganizing. So she'll be..." He doesn't finish the thought, and instead turns and flees back to the supply tent, casting an apologetic look at the half-groomed Minerva.

Noire is standing in a patch of sunlight streaming through an opening in top of the tent, a notebook in her hand, surrounded by supply crates and barrels of weapons. Gerome is suddenly struck with the realization of how beautifully her white hair gleams in the light. He tries to shake the thought from his head with little success. He clears his throat softly to get her attention, and feels his heart pick up the pace as she whirls around and locks gazes with him.

"Oh. Hello again," she says. "Seems like I've been seeing a lot of you recently." He feels his heart melt at the sound of her voice. Since when did he have a heart that could melt? He coughs, trying to clear both his throat and his head.

"Just wondering if there's anything I can...help you with." She giggles softly. He can already feel the heat rising to his cheeks, but for some reason, it doesn't bother him so much.

"Gerome, you are far too kind. ...Actually, you really are far too kind!" Her eyes narrow with suspicion, and he inwardly begins to panic. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing!" he insists quickly. _Please don't transform, please don't transform..._ he prays silently.

"Are you sure?" she prods, taking a step towards him. He feels like his legs have turned to jelly. Oh merciful gods above, he must really be losing it now. "You're sure it's not actually that..." She pauses and looks down at the floor for a moment, then shyly glances up at him again. "...You're starting to fall in love with me?"

 _Oh gods._

Gerome hadn't even considered that as a possibility, but now that she's mentioned it, it's suddenly very clear to him that that is _exactly_ what has happened to him. He feels like an idiot for not realizing it sooner, so he instinctively tries to deny it.

"P-Preposterous!" he stutters, feeling like his whole face is on fire. His heart sinks a little bit when she looks down again, disappointment clear on her face.

"Really? ...Oh." He mentally slaps himself. Now he's gone and made her sad. Why is he so bad at this? "Then we'll forget I ever said anything, okay?" She turns away from him and starts heading back towards her work. "If I ever need a hand in the future, I'll ask someone else. It's not fair that you always-"

"Wait!" Before he can stop himself, he reaches out and grabs her hand. It fits so perfectly in his, he wonders why it never occurred to him to hold it before. She peeks up at him with startled, confused eyes.

"Hmm?"

"..." Gerome is at a loss for words. The very sight of her is turning him into a bowl of pudding, and his instincts are still screaming at him to back out of this situation while he has the chance. But all he can do is stand there, gaping like a drowning fish, unable to produce any coherent sound.

"...Well, come on. Out with it," she says impatiently. "I'm waiting."

"You are?" It takes him a moment to process the meaning behind her words. Is it possible that he isn't the only one who has fallen in love?

"Gods, but you sure can be a wet fish sometimes!" she pouts.

"I am not a wet fish!" he insists, afraid that she might let go of his hand. She doesn't. On the contrary, she clasps his hand more tightly in hers as she begins to lecture him.

"You do understand what I'm trying to get at here, don't you?" Her eyes flash red, and he realizes with horror that he has completely lost any semblance of control in this situation. Even worse, he seems to have aggravated her, and the last thing he wants is to have her collapse again before he can tell her the truth. "I'm lining up the practice dummies! All you have to do is swing blindly! Is it really so hard to tell a girl that you like her?!" Her words are sharp and her eyes gleam with a determination that borders on ferocity, but he soon realizes that she hasn't transformed at all. Everything she is saying comes straight from her own heart, without the assistance of a magical and terrifying mood swing. And even though the truth of her words stings a little, he swears his heart is soaring higher than Minerva ever flew. Unfortunately, his mouth can't seem to keep up.

"Er...Well, that is to say..." He's still tripping over his own tongue like a moron.

"Come on, Gerome! Man up! Just tell me, plainly and clearly, what you think of me!" Her gaze is burning a hole straight through his heart, and he can feel his brain desperately working overtime to find the words he had intended to tell her from the beginning.

"...You see, sometimes when two people..." He's off to a very bad start. "...Things happen...Stuff..." _Come on, you idiot! Spit it out!_ He takes a deep breath and tries to swallow his hesitance as he looks her dead in the eye. "...Okay, I like you."

 _Like_ doesn't even begin to describe how much he cares about her, but he can't stay mad at his own ineptitude with words when her eyes light up and her face shines with bliss.

"Really? Are you serious?" She brings their clasped hands up to her chest and clings to his with both of hers. "Hee hee! Oh, how embarrassing!" She looks downwards as a light blush floats across her pale face. Gerome can hardly believe it. She's even more adorable than Minerva. He immediately cringes at the thought. Since when did he become such a mushy pile of affection?

"...B-but you're the one who made me say it!" he stammers, eyes fixed on their intertwining fingers. He's still trying to keep up a facade, but he can feel his walls starting to crumble already. Strangely enough, he finds that he doesn't seem to care very much.

"It's just so sudden!" Noire chirps, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You'll give me time to think about this, won't you?"

"...Are you making fun of me?"

"Not at all!" she giggles. "I feel overwhelmed, actually. And surprised. ...And honored. And I'm also delighted that you finally managed to express yourself!" _You and me both, Noire..._ "So, um," she smiles up at him shyly. "You'll keep helping me out, won't you?" She hasn't exactly said _I love you, too,_ but the way she's staring at him with such hope, sincerity, and adoration, he's pretty sure that's what she means. Perhaps he doesn't need to be so good with words after all.

"Of course," he murmurs, and he feels the last brick of his emotional wall crumble. Possessed with a new-found sense of courage and a desire to show her his affection, he reaches up with his other hand and gently brushes her cheek with his fingers. "I don't want you dropping more crates on yourself. But I won't be lurking in the shadows anymore. I'll be right at your side." She closes her eyes and leans into his touch, clutching his hand tighter.

"Well that would be a lovely change of pace!" she says with a soft chuckle, and for the first time in a long time, Gerome feels a smile start to spread across his face. He feels like he could do anything now that she is by his side. In this moment, the fear of this terrible war begins to shrink in light of his feelings for her. So this is what Minerva meant by strength. Yes, he thinks he can get used to this new way of living. Emboldened by his euphoria, he is finally able to do what he's wanted to do for a long time.

He takes a step to close the last few inches of distance between them and presses his lips to her forehead. It's a soft, chaste gesture, lasting only a few seconds before he pulls back to embrace her, but it says everything he wants to say. And when Noire wraps her arms around him and buries her face into the crook of his neck, he can feel her reciprocating every word of it.

* * *

 **A/N: So this is one of _many_ oneshots that has been in development for almost a year, now. But thanks to the magic of a few new ADD meds, I was finally able to finish it! I can't say it enough; I LOVE Fire Emblem: Awakening. I love the characters, I love the story, I just love everything about it. So yeah, I've been having a lot of fun with it in the literary sense as well. Gerome and Noire are just one of numerous couples from that game that just turn my heart into a puddle of goo. Speaking of which, I'm on the hunt right now for a good piece of fanart to use as a cover for this one. Unfortunately, not having any money means commissions are out of my line. Still, if you happen to know of any good ones, be sure to message me. I think my castle-in-the-sky picture would be Gerome kissing her forehead like he did here. :3 Anyways, ciao!**

 **-NikiBogwater**


End file.
